Somewhere In Between
by Bohemian Storm
Summary: He waits for the day when he will be strong enough to break free.


Notes: I really need to get away from writing songfics ... it seems to be the only thing I'm writing lately. :) // indicates song lyrics.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters in the story, they belong to JK Rowling. I don't own the lyrics used either, they belong to (surprise, surprise) Lifehouse. This band just creates so many angsty songs ... it's impossible not to want to use them.  
  
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Somewhere In Between  
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He paced the dark room slowly, his feet dragging over the cold stone floor with reluctance, as if he didn't really want to be awake at that early hour. His dark robes were pulled around him tightly, warding off the chill in the room that always crept in sometime during the night. His hair was tangled, falling over his forehead in a dark mess, creating an obscurity in his vision as he stared at the floor, then across the room. He was alone and thinking, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and ideas.   
  
//I can't be losing sleep over this, no I can't  
And now I cannot stop pacing//  
  
*Is this who I really am?* he wondered, shaking his head and pushing back the hair that fell into his eyes. *Should I really be here?*  
  
It hurt him, that much was always plain to see, but he never admitted it. Instead, he pushed on through a torrential storm of emotions, contradictions and confusion. He pretended to find himself in that group, the horrid group that betrayed each other whenever their Dark Lord called for it. He pretended that his friends were the faces behind the hooded robes, the faces behind the shadows but he didn't really know them. He'd never really know them.  
  
"Where do I go?" he whispered hoarsely to the night.   
  
//Give me a few hours, I'll have this all sorted out  
If my mind would just stop racing//  
  
His legs trembled under him, his hands shook with uncertainty and he collapsed to the edge of his bed, staring at the very hands that had drawn blood and taken life from far too many innocents. His body felt ready to fall apart, every muscle ached and he couldn't explain why. His joints throbbed angrily and he felt a familiar pulsing pain begin behind his eyes. The headaches plagued him most nights, the effects of the immense guilt weighing down on his shoulders.  
  
//I cannot stand still  
I can't be this unsturdy  
This cannot be happening//  
  
His shoulders stooped and his face looked far older than his years. He had matured and grown so quickly, witnessing deaths and assertion of power had forced him to do so. He held the ability to end a life in his very hands, he held the strength and housed the evil that it took to murder an innocent person. He was a power hungry man, a thirst within him drove him to become what he had and now that he had power, now that the thirst was quenched he wasn't so sure that was what he wanted.   
  
//This is over my head, but underneath my feet  
'Cause by tomorrow morning, I'll have this thing beat  
And everything will be back to the way it was  
I wish that it was just that easy//  
  
"I wish," he mumbled into his hands, covering his face with his long fingers. "I wish it was just that easy."   
  
His curved spine and weighted shoulders looked pitiful, hunched on his bed, his face in his hands. He felt pitiful, he felt weak for the first time in years. If his tears hadn't dried long ago, he was sure he would have cried. What for, he didn't know, but the tears would have fallen, they would have splashed onto his bent knees and soaked into the dark fabric, melting away from his sight. He would have cried for his victims, for the others who were in the claw-like grasp of the Dark Lord. Mostly though, he would have cried for himself. It was a selfish gesture and he knew that, but the pain in his chest and the weight on his shoulders were not only the deaths of others, it was also the death of his own heart. His soul had died, his life has been wasted away in the pursuit of power.  
  
His arm burned suddenly and he knew, without looking, that he was being called. He rose from the edge of the bed and began to dress, staring out the window to see the sun beginning to rise over the horizon.  
  
"Tomorrow is a new day and we all get a fresh start," he murmured, wondering for a moment who had given him those words of wisdom.  
  
He would break away, one day and when he did he would find the strength that had once lived inside of him. The real strength, not the strength he now drew from fear, something that came from inside him, rather than from some external force. He would find it inside him, soon enough. When he finally did find it, he would break away and leave behind the life that seemed to be just a dream.   
  
All he had to do until then was wait, wait until he was ready.  
  
//I am waiting for tonight  
And then waiting for tomorrow  
And I'm somewhere in between what is real and just a dream//  
  
End  
  
Notes: Twenty points to your house if you can tell me where the line 'Tomorrow is a new day and we all get a fresh start' comes from. Hint: It's an Alan Rickman movie. *points at Dia* And you can't answer, because you just watched this movie. 


End file.
